


Symptoms

by otshineon (alexscarlet)



Series: poly shinee fics [2]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Anxiety Attacks, Arithromania, Band Fic, Bulimia, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Help the poor lad sleep, Insomnia, Insomniac Jonghyun, Jonghyun-centric OT5, Light Dom/sub, Lots of Angst, Mental Health Issues, Multi, OT5, OT5 Friendship, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Poor bby Jjong, minor self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexscarlet/pseuds/otshineon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Jonghyun has terrible insomnia and being up at god-awful times makes him uncover secrets that break his heart</p><p>because he loves them all so much and he hates seeing Key and Taemin and Jinki and Minho like this</p><p>[prompted by Jjong's multiple admissions to suffering from insomnia]</p><p>
  <em> Available in Spanish! See Notes at beginning for translation link. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptoms

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Sadly, I do not own the lovely men of SHINee. 
> 
> Please take note of the triggers mentioned in the tags. I don't want anybody to be triggered by this ok. A lot of this was taken from my own experiences and I might have triggered myself at one or two parts which wasn't nice at all.
> 
>  **Spanish Translation** , thanks to the utterly lovely [ DeathOfTheSwan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathOfTheSwan/pseuds/DeathOfTheSwan). Read 'Symptoms' in Spanish [here!](http://amor-yaoi.com/viewstory.php?sid=156814#sthash.KCsgzM1b.dpbs)

 

His bones are empty, save for the cold itch of desolation, marrow of desperation. He can’t scratch it, no matter how many miles he runs, nor how many times he tries to burn it out. His bones remain knit only by a shaking, feeble hope. And there is a black hole in his stomach, which threatens to suck his cells dry of it.

 

Shaking arms around his torso, keeping it from falling apart and stopping his insides from drifting away at a soft word; until he can’t hold on anymore and a deep weariness drains his veins. Loose limbed on the floor, restlessness overcome by a fatigue that eats into his flesh and buries itself where he can’t dig it out; not that he cares to, dares to, anyway. As his hope flees, and tiredness besieges his body, his head is free to break how it wants…

 

His mind’s primary desire is to curl up and stop, just stop, quickly, not this endless torment of dysphoria, death as slow yet inevitable as a desert of black sand with the sun cold and beating down unrelentingly, water invisible, or maybe never existing in the first place.

 

Thoughts are blades that cut without contact, slice though his brain with a disconcerting preciseness that sends shivers down his spine. They strike like lightening at noon on a pretty day: the entropy of civilisation, with his repulsion at the world around him plummeting to the depths of those empty bones. Disillusionment had occurred so quickly that he can still pretend, sometimes, that it hadn’t happened; but when the sky is dragged through ink into black-velveteen, star-speckled darkness, he knows the truth,

 

And he lies there, wallowing in the pits of despair, needing nothing more than to escape the terrible world around him, listening to the sound of falling tears and chinking coins and mocking laughter and jeering cat-calls, a cacophony which echoes through bones as empty as the brain of a politician, but with a little more conscience.

 

Sometime later, he falls asleep.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

“Jonghyun, wake up!” Key shouts, before startling back when Jonghyun sits straight upright. Then Jonghyun moans and brings his hands up to rub his forehead. “Are you alright?” he asks in a softer voice, leaning against the bed as he strokes Jonghyun’s bleached blonde hair with one hand and places the palm of his other on Jonghyun’s forehead. “You don’t have a temperature,” he murmurs, almost to himself, eyes narrowing in worry when Jonghyun doesn’t respond besides a gurgling groan.

 

“Come on,” Key says, trying to lift Jonghyun out of bed. He used to be able to carry the smaller man, but Jonghyun’s developed muscle recently and he’s a lot heavier, so Key just resorts to draping Jonghyun’s arm around his shoulders and half-dragging him. “Let’s get some food in you. Give you some energy and you can’t have pills on an empty stomach, my grandma always said.”

 

Taemin points at Jonghyun with his chopsticks when they enter the kitchen. “He alright?”

 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Key replies, sighing as he deposits Jonghyun on a chair and busies himself getting his hyung some food.

 

“No, seriously, what’s wrong? He looks ghastly.” Taemin moves around the table to sit next to Jonghyun, who drops his head onto his arms, mumbling something about just getting to sleep and “now I’ve got the worst headache”. Taemin rubs his back and shoots Key a worried glance. “Hyung, you went to bed earliest out of all of us.”

 

“Yeah, but I couldn’t sleep,” Jonghyun whines into the wooden tabletop.

 

“You spent the whole of yesterday afternoon complaining about how you were about to fall asleep right then and there!”

 

Jonghyun looks up sharply, glaring, “Yes, but I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Did you really try to?” Key asks as he puts the plate down in front of Jonghyun, fingers brushing Jonghyun’s arm.

 

“What the hell does that mean? Of course I tried to! As Taemin so kindly reminded us, I was about to drop dead on my feet all yesterday, but for some fucking reason, the second I actually had the chance to, I just couldn’t.” Key flinches and turns away to hide his hurt expression from the elder.

 

Even being exhausted isn’t an excuse to snap at one another - most of the time, they’re all just as shattered as each other - and the way Key’s lips are scrunched up doesn’t escape Taemin’s notice. So he spares no mercy when he elbows Jonghyun and gives him a disapproving look, jerking his thumb at Key’s back when Jonghyun raises an eyebrow in angry questioning.

 

Jonghyun sighs and wearily stands, stumbling a little as he walks to Key and wraps his arms around the thinner man’s waist. “Sorry Bummie,” he murmurs, kissing the nape of Key’s neck, “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

 

“Your food will be getting cold,” is all Key says, but his blunt words are softened slightly by the way he twists in Jonghyun’s arms to awkwardly kiss his nose before pushing him gently back towards the table. “I’ll get you those headache pills.”

 

Jonghyun takes them and as the pain fades so does his irrational anger. He apologises again to Taemin and Key, who both wave his apology away. Taemin forgives and forgets easily and Key says, “I was just worried, that’s all”. He feels fine for the rest of the day and when he gets into bed, he readily falls asleep.

 

Jinki is terribly tense when he pulls Jonghyun into an empty dressing room backstage.

 

“Jinki, we’ve been dating for quite a while now, you don’t need to be this embarrassed pulling me aside for a quick snog.” As expected, Jinki flushes bright red.

 

The leader composes himself and Jonghyun lets him, watching with a fond smile. “It’s not that.”

 

“Oh?” Jonghyun starts wondering, at Jinki’s serious expression, if maybe there’s actually something going on here he doesn’t know about.

 

“Jonghyun,” Jinki makes a pained expression that Jonghyun has to struggle not to tease him about, “Are you drinking before interviews?”

 

Of all the questions to ask, Jonghyun had not been expecting that. His jaw drops, quite literally speechless, the carpet pulled out from beneath him. Jinki just raises his eyebrows and gives him a sort of despairing look of encouragement. Jonghyun splutters, “Wh-what? No! What gave you that idea?”

 

The elder rubs the back of his neck ruefully, “It wasn’t me who was wondering. Our manager asked me to ask you about it. He said you just seem really…not there. During interviews and stuff. I wanted to see for myself, after he’d made me aware of it, and asked for some time to look for myself. And the interview we just did? Your involvement was erratic at best. For most of it, you just stared at the back of Taemin’s head, unless something the staff distracted you. I’ve never known you to have so little focus or concentration.”

 

“Do I smell like alcohol?” Jonghyun demands.

 

Jinki sighs in exasperation, a hint of misery seeping into his tone. He hates that he has to do this. “Jonghyun, did you, or did you not have alcohol earlier today?” Jonghyun can feel the beads of sweat forming on his skin even as the bright lights of the dressing room start blurring into colossal stars, too close.

 

“Alright, alright-“ he starts, waving his arms to mollify the elder and dispel the black dots appearing on the edges of his vision.

 

“Five minutes ‘til SHINee are needed upstairs,” somebody calls out in the corridor. He can hear people moving, the click of heels through the floor and his skull, the loud hisses of synthetic fabrics passing over one another, jostling one another, swishing echoes around his brain.

 

“Wait, does that mean you did? Jonghyun I never thought-!” Jinki breaks off and lurches forward to catch Jonghyun, as the shorter man’s entire body suddenly goes limp and his eyes roll back. “Jjong? Oh God.” He lays Jonghyun on the floor and props his legs over a chair to get the blood running to his head, then sticks his head out of the door. “Taemin!” he gasps in relief, “Stay with hyung for a second, I’ll run and get the manager.”

 

“What’s happened? Jjong!”

 

“Taemin why are you yelling? Jinki don’t run so fast, you’re going to trip. I don’t want you falling agai-“ Key’s voice drops pitch abruptly, slowing in deliberation as Key tries not to panic, “Taemin, what happened to Jjong?”

 

Before Taemin can stammer his own confusion, Jonghyun groans and starts to stir. They both give each other looks of relief mixed with worry and kneel on either side of Jonghyun, somewhat at a loss for what to do.

 

“I’ve fainted before,” says Key, and Taemin really doesn’t think right now is the best time for anecdotes. “I did a bit of research to try and stop it from happening again. He probably overheated,” as he speaks, Key reaches for an MCs discarded script and uses it to fan Jonghyun, “Or maybe his blood sugar levels dropped too rapidly. Why don’t you go and get him something sugary?” Relieved to be given something useful to do, Taemin speeds away, almost crashing into Minho, not pausing to explain.

 

Minho would pass it off as Taemin forgetting or losing something last minute - as he has a custom to - but there’s a hint of something in Taemin’s eyes as he bumbles an apology and continues running that makes Minho enter the room he saw Taemin leave, feeling more than a little intrepid.

 

“Is he dead?” Minho asks. Key slaps his shin and can’t help but laugh at the overdramatic whine Minho lets out in response.

 

“You’re useless. And no, I think he just fainted. Jinki was interrogating him about why he’s been so off recently.” The door opens halfway through the sentence.

 

“I was not interrogating him,” Jinki looks affronted by the accusation and Key immediately feels bad, but he’s bad at apologising so he just gives Jinki a remorseful smile. “I was just asking him if he had a drink before the interviews or something!”

 

“What the fuck, Onew?”

 

“Yeah Onew, what the fuck?” comes a weak echo. Key looks down at Jonghyun, who is grinning up at them despite looking slightly worse for wear.  Taemin returns and ignores their eyes on him, completely focused on his task, kneeling next to Jonghyun and offering the cup of orange juice with a smile on his face.

 

Jonghyun takes one look at the drink and gags. “Yeah no, I think if I drank that I’d be sick.”

 

Taemin pouts, “But Key said it would be good for your sugar blood levels.” Nobody bothers correcting his mistake. Jonghyun just waves him away with his eyes closed and nearly takes out Taemin’s eye with his pinkie. The maknae retreats to the corner of the room to sulk and pouts even more when nobody comes over to comfort him.

 

“Darling, how are you feeling?” Key asks, crouching down besides Jonghyun and helping him actually sit on the chair. Their manager tenses at the endearment but the door is closed and he’s already made the executive decision. Jinki had met with him in private to explain the situation. He had promised they’d not sign again if their relationship was threatened. So their manager had decided that as long as they keep it on the down low, with him doing everything in his power to make sure the whole _thing_ never gets out, he’d stay out of it. He doesn’t meet Minho’s slightly challenging glare.

 

“Jjong, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Jinki starts, eyes and mouth tight with guilt, but Jonghyun interrupts.

 

“It wasn’t you, Jinki, I’m just really,” he took a deep breath, and sighed out the last word on the exhale, “tired.” They all look at him uncertainly. “Really tired.”

 

“How much did you sleep last night?” their manager speaks up for the first time since entering the room.

 

“I didn’t,” states Jonghyun simply. He meets each of their gazes in turn. Key wonders how he didn’t notice the dark bruises under Jonghyun’s eyes. Taemin stops sulking when the dressing room lights twist the exhaustion in his hyung’s stare into something slightly hysterical. Jinki feels shame twist a knife in his stomach at his ignorance to the tired slant of Jonghyun’s shoulders whilst Minho notes how pale he is.

 

They get on with filming, because they have to. Luckily it’s only an interview and now they’re aware and prepared for it, the others easily cover up the gaps in conversation Jonghyun leaves. It seems like they needn’t have worried so much though, because halfway through, Jonghyun wakes up a little and soon they’re working like the well-oiled, well-cared-for machine they are.

 

At some point, they’re asked what scents they wear. They don’t let Taemin answer, all shooting him a warning glance, and smiling indulgently as Key waxes lyrical about vanilla and lavender, about sugar and spice and all things nice.

 

“I still can’t believe Jonghyun uses Lynx,” Key divulges, disgust colouring his tone.

 

“Hey! I only spray it like this.” Four pairs of eyes watch with disappointment as he gestures.

 

“Jonghyun, any Lynx is too much Lynx.” Taemin states. Before Jonghyun can attack him for just parroting Key, Jinki somewhat clumsily changes the topic. Despite his awkwardness, he is nevertheless effective in managing to save Taemin from Jonghyun’s wrath and in sparing the world from the extent of Jonghyun’s love for that infamous stench of masquerade machismo. 

 

Jonghyun mock-glares at Jinki’s head and when Jinki turns to meet his gaze, the elder smiles to see Jonghyun acting normally. He lets his hand fall so the back rests lightly and subtly against Jonghyun’s thigh and he settles into his seat more comfortably. The shorter man can practically feel his leader’s relief, diffusing through the small area of contact and to be absorbed into his bloodstream. It helps warm his insides and Jonghyun feels like his next smile, at one of Jinki’s god-awful puns, is the first real one in a long time.

 

Piling into the car is the usual mess of limbs and elbows in stomachs and loud exclamations and, really, you would’ve thought they’d be better at this by now. Over Key’s nagging to put their seatbelts on, Taemin is ranting about food, all types of food, Minho throwing his thoughts on the delicious subject matter out there too. They dissolve into chortles after Minho tirades about ramen noodles until he literally has no breath left. Key reaches around from the front seat and hits Taemin around the head but ends up being dragged into the conversation.

 

Jonghyun can’t resist humming the toast song, gradually louder and louder until he and Jinki burst out singing it simultaneously, grinning at each other as Key wails in embarrassment. Taemin and Minho wave their arms back and forth, hitting the car roof every swoop, attempting to harmonise and ending up with a horrible noise that hurts their driver’s eardrums, though not as much as the cacophony of laughter which follows.

 

“We don’t have another schedule until Monday. Right?” Jinki aims the last bit at their driver, who nods, and Taemin and Minho whoop loudly, flailing their arms around even more.

 

“I can’t believe I sometimes forget you’re a maknae,” Key goads Minho, but the younger man just sticks his tongue out as if to confirm his youth.

 

“Lunch!” Taemin sings suddenly. And very loudly. Jonghyun reaches over Jinki’s lap to slap the maknae’s knee. Taemin yelps and Key cackles.

 

As Taemin launches into a description of his would-be Last Supper, changing his mind on the courses halfway through every sentence, with Minho and Key’s input hardly helping, Jinki smiles down at Jonghyun, still lying on his lap. There’s a hint of guilt still lurking in the corners of his mouth, so Jonghyun wriggles around until he’s facing upwards then makes kissy lips. Hesitantly, Jinki obliges, bending over to place his full lips on Jonghyun’s narrow ones. Jonghyun hopes the elder can feel that he doesn’t blame him, in their kiss.

 

When Jinki pulls away, saliva making his lips rosy and so scrumptious Jonghyun wants to crane his neck and kiss him again and again until he can’t breath, the helpless self-blame has faded. Jonghyun smiles and his eyes scrunch up as he does so and suddenly he can’t seem to open them again.

 

“Are you going to sit up any time soon?” Jinki teases quietly, under the hubbub of noise from the other three members. Jonghyun mumbles something that might be “yes” but could quite as easily be taken for “no” and Jinki frowns. “Jjong?”

 

It’s just that this wave of exhaustion has swept through him and he suddenly feels like Jinki’s thighs are the best pillow - to be honest, Jinki’s thighs are the best pillow all the time - and that to move would expel an amount of energy equal to that needed to move Mount Everest.

 

“Jonghyun, can you hear me?” Jinki’s voice is rising and Jonghyun can hear how the other three gradually quieten.

 

He can feel worried glances bouncing off his skin and Jinki’s increasing panic and can imagine Minho wrapping an arm around Taemin as the younger boy watches in confusion and wonders if anyone else can sense Key’s rapidly escalating anxiety levels. In an attempt to placate them he manages to stumble through the words “just tired”, before completely succumbing to the tsunami of sleep that crashes over him.

 

In the white horses that follow, Jonghyun is very vaguely aware of the car pulling up outside their building because he knows the shape of the driveway. He knows the strength of Jinki’s arms when the leader hands him out of the car into Minho’s warmth and then the two carry Jonghyun between them.

 

Whoever opens the door does so with a shaking hand, if the scrape of the key on the lock is any hint, and then Jonghyun can smell the lunch they were all looking forward so much to. He doesn’t really want to eat anything now, but hopes, with strange detachment, that the others won’t worry about him and will enjoy the meal with as much enthusiasm as they had been displaying in the car. Jinki’s chest rumbles as he speaks and Jonghyun trembles with it, but he can’t make out the words. Next thing he knows, it’s the sheets of his bed.

 

They reek of tossing and turning and never being comfortable. His duvet rustles like cars racing down midnight streets, the growls of their engines keeping him awake. The springs of his mattress tick like the clock under dawn-brightening skies. Jonghyun scrambles for sleep as it threatens to disappear. He moves sub-consciously to weakly grab Minho’s arm as he pulls away.

 

“Not here,” Jonghyun pleas. He’s eternally grateful at Minho for obliging immediately and carrying him to another bed.

 

Jonghyun presses his face into the pillow and it smells like mint and lemon and lavender. Key. When Minho tucks the duvet over him, he’s engulfed in the fragrance of clean linen, which reminds him of Jinki. Minho kisses his forehead gingerly and he feels like Jinki’s hugging him and his brain is soothed by Key’s scent; he misses Taemin momentarily. Then, Jonghyun sinks back into slumber.

 

Key has this terrible habit, of waking up in the middle of the night and stealing into the kitchen to eat whatever crap he can find in the fridge and sobbing as he stuffs himself. Admittedly it’s not so much a habit as something he does whenever the stress piles up and his shoulders can’t bear the weight any longer. Or he misses home. Which he doesn’t very much, and they’re good at sharing the stress between the five of them, so it’s actually a pretty rare occurrence. Still, all the members know about it.

 

They respect that he likes being left alone to his thoughts in the quietness of 1am and have assured him that if he needs them they won’t mind being woken up, and they let him be. Nobody comments when his eyes are red and puffy the next day and the fridge is practically empty, but Jinki might shoot him a few more loving looks than usual, Minho might tease him a little less, Jonghyun might hug him a bit tighter and Taemin might pepper little wet kisses all over Key’s face.

 

What the members don’t know about, though, is how when Key can’t eat another bite, the reflection of himself in the mirror seems to engorge even as he watches, horrified. The tear stained cheeks bulge, his arms droop with fat hanging from them, his thighs feel heavy and his ankles swollen.

 

With a thick finger he pokes his disgustingly large stomach and then the bile is rising in his throat and he rushes silently to the bathroom and retches everything back up. He hacks until he dry heaves and then he flushes the toilet three times and sprays the bathroom spray everywhere and cleans his teeth meticulously and scrubs the lingering smell of leftovers and vomit off his hands.

 

None of members know, that is, until Jonghyun finds himself awake and glaring with foggy eyes at the blinking 12:30 on the clock when somebody runs down the corridor outside the room towards the bathroom, leaving the echoes of sobs in their wake. Frowning, he gets out of bed, wincing when his joints crack. He hopes it’s nothing serious, because that time Minho got diarrhoea was awful. The door isn’t locked and he pushes it open.

 

He freezes, words dying on his lips. Key doesn’t seem to notice his presence, too busy shoving fingers down his throat to get the last of his binging session to leave his stomach. Jonghyun’s brain sort of shuts down, and he just watches from the doorway as Key stands shakily and flushes the toilet three times. He sprays the bathroom spray everywhere, and in doing so turns around.

 

At the sight of Jonghyun, the bottle slips from Key’s fingers, luckily landing on somebody’s discarded towel. Key looks like he’s about to be sick again, before he sucks in a deep breath and pointedly ignores Jonghyun. He goes to the sink and cleans his teeth meticulously and scrubs the lingering smell of leftovers and vomit off his hands. Then he walks up to Jonghyun, takes the shorter man’s hand, and pulls him back to the living room. The lights of Seoul twinkle outside the window and the whole flat is silent.

 

Then Key says, “It only happens every now and then. You know how rarely.” His pleading eyes reflect the lights and they’re still puffy from his crying earlier. “I know it looks bad; sometimes I even worry myself. But I swear it’s not a problem. I just eat too much too quickly, at a weird time. Could you stop staring at me like that?” Somewhere during Key’s little speech Jonghyun had regained the ability to breath and think and generally act like a person instead of a robot.

 

“Of course, sorry,” he manages, and the softness of his apology makes Key melt a bit, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” says Key, but it’s a reflex reaction. Jonghyun’s eyes look like he’s stolen all the light out of the city, gleaming warm and comforting.

 

“Come ‘ere.” Jonghyun opens his arms and Key doesn’t even try to resist, just nuzzles his head under Jonghyun’s chin and into Jonghyun’s firm chest, lets Jonghyun’s strong arms hold him carefully, as if he were made of china.

 

“Don’t tell Jinki?” Key whispers.

 

“You know I can’t promise that.” Jonghyun laughs softly and Key chuckles in a way that sounds like surrender. Jonghyun helps him tidy away the empty Tupperware and put the dishes in the dishwasher then tucks him into bed. He kisses Key’s lips with a hint of desperation to ensure Key knows how much he loves him. Key returns it in kind, tongue hesitantly licking at the seam of Jonghyun’s lips, hands burying themselves in blonde hair as the kiss deepens. When Key is kissing like he usually does, kinda filthy, with more challenge than submission, Jonghyun draws away and pats Key’s cheek.

 

“Goodnight. Love you.”

 

“Love you too, Jjong.”

 

“Look, is the thing about Key still bothering you?” Minho asks tentatively. They’re slumped on a bench beside the drink machine outside the practice room. Minho was sent out because he’d hurt his foot on set a couple of days before. Jonghyun has absolutely no excuse for being sent out and guilty pictures the other three still working away.

 

“No, it’s not the thing about Key,” he sighs, rolling the ice-cold coke can across his forehead, “Although that’s not something you can just forget.”

 

“Because you know that it was the right thing to do, telling us. Jinki’s smart and he’s tactful when he needs to be and he’ll get Kibum help. We can all help keep an eye out and make sure Bummie doesn’t feel so bad again and it’ll be ok.” Jonghyun appreciates the effort, but wishes Minho would just stop talking.

 

“I know, Minho. Thanks.” Minho frowns, because that means… “I don’t have any excuse for dancing so shit. My body just doesn’t seem to,” Jonghyun waves his arms around, then stops when he notices the alarmed look Minho is giving the open coke can in his hand, “It just isn’t doing what I want it to.”

 

Minho smiles benignly, “Don’t worry hyung, everybody has bad days. At least when you make a mistake, you don’t take anybody else down with you.” That’s true. Minho always seems to knock somebody else with his long limbs when he makes a mistake and it doesn’t take much for him to land all five of them on the floor. Well, four. Taemin usually manages to remain standing.

 

Jonghyun finishes his coke and crumples the can. “I’d best get back to work. Not all of us have a get out of jail free card.” He spares a pointed glance at the brace on Minho’s ankle and the taller man kicks at him with his healthy foot.

 

When the chuckles die down, Minho insists, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Want help getting back inside?” Jonghyun is teasing but Minho’s face shows he seriously considers the offer before bestowing upon him the most gracious smile.

 

“Thanks but no, I think I’ll manage.” Sometimes Jonghyun really wants to punch Minho’s overly polite, overly serious, overly handsome face. He settles for pinching Minho’s cheek.

 

Jonghyun lies awake, staring into darkness, mind ticking away. By the time he manages to close his eyes, it’s already light outside and he only has two hours until their schedule demands he wake up again.

 

He has been managing to stave off their worry but he knows Jinki and Key in particular are keeping close tabs on him. It’s really not that much to worry about; it’s just that he can’t sleep.

 

One morning, limbs still heavy with sleep, Jinki tells them to bring their duvets along and create a nest on the living room floor, and they make a plan of action. Judging by how awake Key is, he’s in on whatever this is too.

 

“I’ve did some research last night,” Jinki starts.

 

“Wait, you did _research_? I was just going to wing it,” wails Key, before curling into a ball and rolling around on the duvets until he bashes into Minho and is growled at. He unfurls and crawls onto Minho, who is lying face down and half-asleep. Minho doesn’t bother trying to shrug him off.

 

Jinki doesn’t even spare the two a glance. “First things first, no caffeine later than four pm. You should avoid eating heavy meals too late as well. Also, only exercise before dinner or the hormones it releases will keep you awake. Less alcohol. I know it’s difficult but attempt not to use your phone or laptop at least thirty minutes before you start trying to sleep. Only lie in bed when you’re tired, otherwise you won’t associate it with sleep…” He gives Jonghyun a weird look when the younger man raises his arm. “Uh, yes?”

 

“I think the train has already departed that station.”

 

Jinki considers but before he can say anything, Minho mumbles into the duvet, “You slept fine in Key’s bed, that one time, after you fainted. Why don’t you just share with somebody?”

 

“Shared? More like hogged the entire mattress. We can just switch beds,” Key suggests, his words dribbling over Minho’s shoulders.

 

Jinki looks to Jonghyun for confirmation and finds the usually confident man bright red and stammering. “But I was only able to sleep because it…um…smelled like you.”

 

“Smelled like me.” Key repeats, sitting up and giving Jonghyun a look. Minho groans at the pressure Key is exerting on his back, but it’s actually kind of like a massage in the way the older man wriggles and isn’t very heavy at all.

 

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep there if it started smelling like me,” Jonghyun asserts, “I only slept because your pillows were all lavendery, like your shampoo.”

 

“Lavendery.”

 

“Are you going to keep repeating what I’m saying?” Jonghyun flops down on the duvet in exasperation, and Key tsks at him then lies back down on Minho. Minho groans again.

 

“Ok, so you can just share with anyone, no big deal. Where were we? Oh yes. Get out of bed when you can’t sleep, leave the bedroom, and do something relaxing, such as reading or listening to soothing music. Then, when you’re sleepy, go back to bed. I’ve moved all bedroom clocks out of view because according to this website, ‘anxiously watching the minutes tick by when you can’t sleep—knowing that you’re going to be exhausted when the alarm goes off—is a sure-fire recipe for insomnia-‘”

 

“Insomnia?” interrupts Jonghyun.

 

Minho grumbles, “Of course, hyung.”

 

“Why, did you think this was something else?” Key adds.

 

“Oh. No. I just hadn’t thought it was that bad.”

 

They all give him a significant look at that, even, from his blanket cocoon, Taemin, whom Jonghyun had been convinced had fallen asleep again. After a moment, Jinki continues and Jonghyun gives in with a deep sigh, settling back against the sofa.

 

That night, Jonghyun goes to bed early. Even though he’s beginning to dread going to bed, tonight he _knows_ he’ll be able to get to sleep quickly. The thought makes him smile as he strips naked and clambers underneath the sheets.

 

Jonghyun is drifting off when unexpectedly he feels a twitch in his right calf, like he’s over-used it, only it’s been years since they were taught to properly warm-up and warm-down. He’s never not bothered to do the stretches and gentle movements, so why is his muscle trembling? He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore it but it keeps shuddering and jumping and eventually he gives in; he sits up and reaches down to massage the underneath of his leg with his hands. Jinki has just gotten into bed after talking to their manager about something - nothing important, Jinki had assured them - and his eyes open at the shift of the sheets.

 

“Is your leg okay?” Jonghyun begins to shake his head, with a hint of franticness because he was just getting off to sleep and he doesn’t understand why it’s shaking like this, before hesitantly nodding as the muscle beneath his palms suddenly stills. He rubs it again suspiciously. “Ok,” says Jinki, eying him carefully but too tired to question further, “Get some sleep.” He rolls over and pulls the duvet up so only his hair shows. Jonghyun wants to cry that that was exactly what he had been trying to do when his body decided to revolt against him.

 

Instead he leans over and peels the blankets away just enough to press a kiss to Jinki’s temple, earning himself a soft hum and a mumble that might have been “sweet dreams Jjong”. He lays himself down, carefully placing each limb on the sheets like the woman on the yoga DVD had instructed with her soothing voice, steadies his breathing, empties his mind gradually with each exhale and spends a long, long time staring up at the ceiling before his brain finally stutters and trips into a fitful sleep.

 

Dawn is blossoming bright on the horizon when he wakes up. Sighing in resignation, Jonghyun takes one last breath full of Jinki’s warmth, and then carefully gets up so he doesn’t disturb him, pausing before he leaves the room on tiptoes to twitch the curtains better shut so the light won’t wake him.

 

He’s about to turn right and head to the kitchen, because for the first time in ages he actually feels hungry, craving carbs, but some instinct makes him turn left and head towards the bathroom. He nears with trepidation after his discovery last time. The sight that greets him is, thankfully, less horrifying, but nonetheless very unexpected. On the cold bathroom tiles, in the childish puppy print pyjamas that are too short for his long limbs, the ones Key had bought him as a joke, sits Minho, cross-legged.

 

“Minho?” Minho doesn’t look at him, just holds a finger up in his direction and shushes him. Jonghyun frowns, feeling affronted and thoroughly confused. Minho appears to be staring at the tiled wall and, after he’s double-checked that there’s not a spider there or anything, Jonghyun is starting to feel worried by the slightly fanatical glint in Minho’s large round eyes. He slides down the wall and plants his weary butt next to Minho’s.

 

After a while, Minho glances at him. Then, after another while, Minho says, “I’m just counting the tiles.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince Jonghyun of something, but Jonghyun doesn’t know what exactly. “It’s not weird and it’s better than puking my guts up, right?” Ah, thinks Jonghyun. “I’ll be fine in a little bit and then I’ll go for my morning run.”

 

“Make sure to change first,” Jonghyun comments mildly. Minho nods. He’s still not quite focusing on Jonghyun’s face.

 

“I always remember to change,” Minho assures him. Jonghyun is about to speak again, ask him how often he needs to count the tiles, but Minho’s gaze has been dragged back up to the wall. He watches Minho’s lips form the numbers as he counts then Jonghyun stands and dusts his butt off. Hesitating for a second, he tenderly smooths a spike in Minho’s hair down before heading to the kitchen.

 

He makes himself a cup of the awful tea Taemin bought in insistence that Jonghyun should just swear off coffee altogether until he got into a regular sleep pattern. As he leaves the disgusting drink to brew, he fills a water bottle with water and secures it to the bum-bag Minho wears for his morning runs, slipping a breakfast bar into one of the pockets, just in case.

 

He remembers when he used to join Minho on his morning runs, their breaths huffing out in sync, Minho reducing his stride enough that Jonghyun didn’t have to sprint to keep up. He remembers going to the gym with the taller man, how they’d tease and goad each other on; Minho always challenged Jonghyun to competitions of arm strength and always lost. Jonghyun’s proud of his arms.

 

Or was proud. He looks at them now; at the way tiredness is slowly, gradually, melting muscle into fat. He tenses a bicep and just that small action makes his arm feel weak with tiredness. Jonghyun wonders if he should just force himself to go, or request Minho physically drag him to the gym, but concludes he wouldn’t be able to effectively work out even if he went. Exercise requires mental as well as physical activity and Jonghyun’s kind of lacking in the mental area right now.

 

His mug is half empty and the sofa has leached enough of his heat that Jonghyun can properly snuggle into warm cushions when Minho appears. His eyes have lost that ferventness, and he blushes when he sees Jonghyun.

 

He looks like he wants to say something, but Jonghyun cuts in first, “Your ratty old arse-bag is over there,” he points at it and feels glad for the way Minho just rolls his eyes in mock-despair, whilst the corners of his lips twitch up into a fond smile, “Have a good run, okay?”

 

“Thanks Jjongie.” Minho’s eyes crinkle at the sound of disgust Jonghyun makes at the nickname.

 

“Piss off, you overgrown infant.” Minho grabs his stuff and is halfway out the door when he suddenly spins and leans over the edge of the sofa to press his lips to Jonghyun’s. Surprised, Jonghyun mutters about almost spilling the remnants of his tea on his shirt but Minho kisses the mumblings away, chuckling happily at the reluctant groan his tongue pulls out of the elder’s throat.

 

When they break apart to breathe, Minho leans even closer to whisper in Jonghyun’s ear, “I really love you.” He pulls back and straightens, grin widening at the pleased flush on Jonghyun’s cheekbones.

 

The last thing he hears before the door closes is Jonghyun yelling after him, “Hey idiot! I kind of like you too!”

 

Jonghyun must have fallen asleep after Minho left because the next thing he knows is the smell of toast. He leaps off the sofa then stumbles to a halt in surprise. He…leapt?

 

With a whoop of joy he scampers into the kitchen and grabs the first body he comes across, lifting it off the ground yelling, “I have energy!”

 

Key slaps his face, laughing at his childishness, “Put me down you idiot.”

 

Jonghyun does so, but only after kissing Key square on the lips, pulling away with a loud smooching sound. Standing by the toaster, Taemin pretends to gag.

 

Jinki hums as he hooks his arm around Jonghyun’s waist and pulls the shorter man to the table, “That’s good. I’m glad.” He pecks Jonghyun lightly on the cheek. “Do you know where Minho is?”

 

“Yeah, he’s on his run. He set off a bit later than usual, because…uh…”

 

“Because?” Key questions expectantly, in his ‘mum’ voice.

 

“He forgot to set his alarm.” Key looks like he doesn’t quite believe him, but doesn’t push the matter.

 

Taemin hops up on the counter, stuffing half a slice of buttery toast in his mouth as he asks, “Wha’ we gonna do to’ay?”

 

“Seriously Tae?” demands Key exasperatedly.

 

 At the same time Jinki says, “What do you want to do?” Key looks slightly betrayed that Jinki isn’t scolding Taemin at all.

 

Taemin ignores Key. “Watch anime!”

 

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Key’s face sets into a frown so unimpressed that Jonghyun can’t help but laugh. “Yah, who are you laughing at?” Key scorns, but he’s smiling, glad that Jonghyun’s awake enough to actually participate in the conversation.

 

“Come on,” Taemin whines, “We haven’t watched anime in ages.”

 

“Yeah, come on Key, don’t be a spoil-sport,” Jonghyun whinges alongside, ducking away and screeching over-dramatically when Key lashes out, pretending to hit him.

 

“What, aren’t you going to help coerce me?” Key throws the question at Jinki, who avoids it with upturned palms and wide, innocent eyes.

 

“I don’t mind either way.”

 

There’s a moment of silence.

 

“…it has to be Howl’s Moving Castle.” Key can’t maintain his annoyed frown and it slips into a begrudging smile when Jonghyun and Taemin hurrah as they push and shove each other as they run out to the sofa, calling claims to Howl’s sexy arse.

 

“You do realise Taemin will be crying over Howl’s magnificence for the next five days, right?” Jinki says, raising his eyebrows and throwing an arm around Key’s shoulders.

 

He presses a kiss to Key’s temple as the blonde mutters, “Howl’s mine.” They both laugh and Jonghyun bounds up to them and grabs their free hands, pulling them faster into the living room.

 

“What’s this?” Minho chuckles when he returns and finds them all sprawled over each other; Taemin sobbing into the popcorn, Jinki and Jonghyun debating whether Howl looks better with blonde or black hair and Key ranting to nobody about the deeper meaning of Sophie’s transformation and the film in general.

 

“Oh, you’re back!” exclaims Taemin, pulling his head out of the popcorn bowl and shuffling aside to make room for Minho. “On second thoughts,” he says, wrinkling his nose, “Shower first.”

 

“I can’t believe you started Howl without me.” Minho says, shaking his head as he trudges to the bathroom. Key cackles delightedly.

 

Taemin nudges him, “I thought you were against watching this”, and Key growls at him, messing up his hair.

 

“Shut up, you punk.”

 

When the film ends they sit in reverent silence for a moment.

 

“I will never tire of that film,” Jinki states, earning himself nods and hums of agreement all round.

 

“And now,” says Minho, and the rest of them groan in advance because they know what he’s going to say before the words leave his mouth, because he always says them, after every film, “Food time! Who’s cooking lunch?”

 

“Some chef at the Indian place,” Jonghyun replies, in the kitchen and inspecting the takeout menus stuck on the fridge, dialling the number, before anyone can protest.

 

Taemin rolls onto his back and kicks his feet up in the air to return the feeling to them, then stretches as only a dancer can stretch, before slinking into the kitchen to remind Jonghyun about the naan. Taemin fucking loves naan.

 

“’M so glad Jjong feels better,” mumbles Minho as shrieks emit from the kitchen where Taemin is tickling Jonghyun into a mess of giggles and pleas for the torture to end.

 

“I don’t think it’s a permanent thing though,” warns Key, voice edged with sadness, “It’s just temporary and he’ll probably wear himself out because he thinks he’s got the reserves and then he’ll crash and burn and-“

 

“Shut up, don’t let him hear you.” Jinki scolds and Key’s lips close around the worried tirade. “Let him have fun whilst he can.”

 

“God, you sound like he’s going to die.” Minho remarks, trying (and failing) to lighten the mood. They’re still and silent in contemplation for a while, before Key reaches out and pulls them both closer and they hug him from both sides, Minho’s nose cold on his neck and his head tucked into Jinki’s shoulder.

 

“Honestly Tae, why do they always forget to invite us to the group cuddles?”

 

“Goddamnit, those bastards.”

 

“Taemin!”

 

“Shut up Bummie!”

 

“I liked hugging you better when you were quiet.”

 

“I’ll yell at you next Minho, just see if I don’t!”

 

“He’s already yelling at Minho though?”

 

“Taemin, don’t question your Key-hyung, his mind works in mysterious ways and we must accept that we shall never understand.”

 

“Fuck you Jjong, I heard that!”

 

“Stop ganging up on Key!”

 

“Thanks Jinki. I really only love you. I just pretend to like those other bastards.”

 

“Oi!” 

 

They’re still cuddling on the living room floor, Indian takeaway boxes strewn around their nest, four hours later. Key rests his chin on Jonghyun’s thigh and wonders at the ease with which he can talk to all of them. They could lie here for an entire day and never tire of things to say. There are occasional lapses in the conversation, when people nip to the toilet or grab water for them all, or simply shift into a new position, draping their limbs over different lovers.

 

Once, Taemin whines about being hot, even after Minho turns on the air-conditioner, so the next time they move he finds himself kicked off the patchwork of blankets and alone. He pushes their backs and tickles their feet and they stubbornly ignore him. For all of five minutes. Then they simultaneously break and tug him back into the group, pretending they had planned to give in from the very beginning. From the self-satisfied smirk on Taemin’s face, they know he doesn’t believe them.

 

“I want ice-cream,” Key declares, and starts untangling himself from Jinki’s arms, kicking Minho’s ridiculously long legs off his own. “Anyone want to come with?”

 

“Wait, you’re going out?” Jinki sits up, frowning his ‘leader’ frown, the one that is always guaranteed to piss Key off.

 

“May I come?” Taemin wriggles out from Minho’s ridiculously long arms and Key helps him up then ruffles his head with a “sure thing, baby Tae”.

 

“Look,” Jinki’s face crumples with consideration, “I’m not sure you should just leave…at least call one member of security.”

 

“Jinki, the ice-cream place is barely three blocks away.” Key brushes off his concern and adjusts Taemin’s fringe beneath the peak of his cap.

 

“We’ll be sneaky,” Taemin promises, then throws himself flat against the wall and pretends to be James Bond. Jonghyun nearly cries with laughter.

 

Key just rolls his eyes. “Do any of you want ice-cream?”

 

“Mint chocolate!” Jonghyun requests as his laughter dies down, whilst Minho demands Rocky Road. Four pairs of eyes look at Jinki expectantly and he throws himself back on the floor with a groan.

 

“Fine, fine, be sneaky and don’t blame me if you get mobbed, I’ll have strawberry.”

 

“Yuck,” the others all say, with varying degrees of disgust and disappointment.

 

“Fuck off and get me my pink ice-cream.” Jinki rolls over with a huff and Minho muffles his laugh in Jonghyun’s back.

 

Taemin grins and blows a kiss to the room in general but Key hesitates before rushing over embarrassedly and crouching awkwardly to kiss Jinki on the temple. Jinki blinks up at him, pleasantly startled, and the adorableness forces Key to kiss him again, and again, until they’re licking each other’s lips off and Taemin is whining at them to stop and Jonghyun has got bored and is in the middle of challenging Minho to a round of FIFA.

 

Taemin finally pulls his hyung away - it’s not his fault Jinki’s so cute, is it? - but still Key delays. Before pulling the door open he yells, “Everybody in this room, I have an announcement.” They all look at him, in some cases (Jonghyun), questioning his sanity. A radiant smile spreads itself across Key’s face. “I love you.”

 

He grins at the chorus of “Love you too!” that he gets in return.

 

(They do almost get recognised but then Key pretends to be Taemin’s girlfriend and Taemin giggles about being the guy for ages, until Key flutters his eyelashes and calls Taemin ‘oppa’, and Taemin nearly drops the multiple cones and tubs of ice-cream he’s carrying. He blushes all the way home.)

 

Jinki was right in saying Jonghyun would crash.

 

Exhaustion hits him at 7 o’clock sharp, like a dreaded yet inevitable appointment with the dentist that could not be postponed. One second Jonghyun’s helping Jinki stir the ramen, the next Minho is surging forward to catch him as he sways then his knees buckle. He’s lucky he doesn’t brain himself on the kitchen counter as he falls.

 

A week later, Jonghyun watches his reflection as he brushes his teeth, notes the pale skin and heavy eye-bags. In his head, thoughts run rampant. Thoughts along the lines of, I should be able to sleep well every night like a normal person. It’ll be the same as every other time, another night of sleepless misery. I’m never going to be able to sleep well; all Jinki’s research will amount to nothing. If I’m lucky it will only take hour to get to sleep tonight, but it will probably take longer. He’s sure this negative, defeatist mind-set isn’t the best thing to have, the best way to heal, but Jonghyun can’t seem to snap out of it. The problem is,

 

Nothing’s working.

 

A few days before, Jonghyun had laughed when he found a yoga DVD on the table with a note in Jinki’s handwriting saying, _I got umma to send this over, maybe it’ll help by teaching you relaxation techniques????? \\(^-^)/_

He had tried the DVD and it helped him wind down, but he just found himself physically paralysed on the bed, with his mind still whirring at 100mph.

 

Then, the day after, Key and Minho had combined their knowledge of everything bath related - Jonghyun still couldn’t believe Minho shared Key’s obsession with bath bombs, of all things - and he had come back from visiting the gym with Minho to find Key had set up the bathroom for him to take a long and relaxing bath. The congratulatory smirks the pair had exchanged had informed him it was a group effort and Jonghyun had made sure to kiss both of them, hands cupping their cheeks and tongue licking into their mouths one by one to show his appreciation. He still couldn’t sleep that night.

 

Taemin had taken it upon himself to help Jonghyun with all his chores, which was, given Taemin’s track record of avoiding chores at all costs, a very touching gesture. Furthermore, he had also snuck out, armed with a list from Key of Jonghyun’s favourite fragrances, and had appeared sometime later with a huge number of scented candles for Jonghyun to burn at night.

 

Despite everything they had done already and continue to do now, Jonghyun finds himself standing in the bathroom with the word insomnia on a loop in his brain. Which is drop-dead exhausted, tired like it never had been before. His brain, that is. He watches as his reflection’s eyes droop and it’s body rocks from side to side. Tentatively, he reconsiders his earlier assumption and fancies he might be able to sleep tonight.

 

He’s just climbed into bed - he’s chosen Minho’s tonight because he tonight he feels fragile, like the faintest wind could breeze him apart, and he always feels safe with Minho - when he hears his phone ringing. He knows he shouldn’t answer it, shouldn’t disturb what small bedtime routine he’s managed to establish, especially when there’s a high chance he might actually be able to sleep straight away, but what if it’s important?

 

“Jjong?”

 

“Appa?!”

 

“Thank God,” his father breathes down the line. “Your mother and I have been worried about you.” At those words, Jonghyun can feel a headache sparking and he suddenly tears up. He was _so fucking close_ to sleeping. Now he’s got an hour or so ahead of him spent reassuring his parents that he’s ok. He tries to blink the tears away and pay attention.

 

“I know we basically signed away our parenting rights over you the second we gave you permission to sign that bloody contract,” Jonghyun really, really wishes he didn’t talk like that, “But you can’t blame us for being worried. The last time we saw you on national television, you looked like you were only half-conscious. You haven’t been doing any of the recent interviews for your up-coming album, and they keep saying you’re sick and just taking the chance to rest before the comeback actually happens. But you always phone your mother and moan about what hurts whenever you’re ill, and we haven’t received a single phone call. Jjong, what’s wrong?”

 

Jonghyun wonders what his father would do if he just burst into tears. On another note, he wonders how he would react if Jonghyun admitted the pathetic truth, “Oh no, I just can’t sleep like a normal person. In fact, I can’t sleep at all.” Expectant silence stretches on and Jonghyun keeps opening and closing his mouth, bereft of words. His father makes a small noise that sounds like a mixture of encouragement and frustration and Jonghyun’s eyes well with tears once more, distorting his vision.

 

He moves the phone away so his father doesn’t hear the way he’s desperately trying to calm his breathing as he wipes the tears away. He draws his legs closer until he is curled up into a ball, shaking slightly. He thinks that, beyond the blur of his tears, he can see sleep waving goodbye and climbing out of the window and disappearing into the night.

 

“Jonghyun, are you still there, son?” Jonghyun has just made the decision to just open his mouth and whatever comes out, so be it, when Jinki opens the door. Jonghyun’s lip is trembling and his hand is clutching the phone so hard his knuckles are white. Jinki blinks at him, quickly assessing the situation, and when Jonghyun blinks back at him, a few more tears trickle down his face. He thinks he must look pathetic and ugly and is so glad Jinki has seen him even worse before and loves him despite that, loves him even inclusively.

 

Jinki sits on the bed beside him and Jonghyun gives him the phone when he holds his hand out for it. Jonghyun lets himself dissolve, everything disfiguring in the reflection within the salty teardrops. He drifts and doesn’t register anything except Jinki’s hand stroking his head. He thinks he’s still crying later, weak but unstoppable rivulets down his cheeks, when Jinki’s steady hand with its stubby fingers and warm palm disappears.

 

He might whimper at the loss, but before he can work himself up, he feels Minho’s lithe body settling next to him, gently manhandling him so Jonghyun is curled up within the protective cage of Minho’s arms. Someone - Taemin, Jonghyun guesses, if the lips that kiss his forehead beforehand are any indication - turns off the lights.

 

Jonghyun remembers how he feels tiny and safe in Minho’s arms and lets the feeling flow through him, relaxing his tense muscles and mopping up his tears and, finally, leading him into sleep.

 

Sunlight is slipping past the curtains to spill across the carpet, dust motes gold as they dance languorously through the warm air. Jonghyun wants to dip his hands into the stream of light, run his hands through the puddles of sun on the floor.

 

He manages to extract himself from Minho’s arms, despite the fact that Minho’s octopus limbs just wrap tighter around him when he tries to wriggle free. He huffs in Minho’s face when he finally escapes and grins hazily when Minho’s nose wrinkles at the puff of air.

 

Jonghyun almost sighs in relief when he can’t hear anybody in the bathroom when he pads out of the room. Just thinking about Key still makes him want to cry, and, despite how calm he’d managed to be, Minho had shaken him up too.

 

All the crying last night had exhausted him and he slept deeply, notwithstanding the early wake-up…wait, he hasn’t actually checked the time yet. And it’s sunnier outside than usual. Jonghyun runs to get his phone where it’s charging in the living room, sliding on his sock over to the socket and snatching his phone up.

 

“Fuck yes!” he cries at the sight of ’10:11’. It’s the latest he’s slept the entire week and the knowledge makes him feel even more refreshed; it’s Saturday and they haven’t got any schedules until a talk-show in the evening, so the rest are all lying in. He wonders if Minho had woken at his usual 6am and gone back to sleep just so he didn’t wake Jonghyun by moving. Jonghyun takes selfish pleasure in the thought. Smiling giddily, he plugs in his headphones and turns on his favourite light but upbeat song. Humming along, Jonghyun dances his way to the kitchen and;

 

Taemin is standing with his back to the door. He too is wearing headphones, bouncing slightly on his toes to the beat whilst he shovels dry cereal into his mouth and drinks milk straight from the carton, giggling softly at the perceived naughtiness of it and;

 

Taemin is wearing the shortest shorts, hardly covering his arse and ratty enough that his boxers can be seen through the rips in multiple places, and he’s pretty sure they once belonged to Key and;

 

Taemin’s skinny but muscular legs are a pattern of smooth tan skin and bright, throbbing red scratches. Crimson welts dragging the top-layer of skin away, stretching from under the shorts down to his knees, cutting around his calves. Some scratches are fading even as Jonghyun looks. Others are speckled with red blots of burst blood vessels and yet more are worse, haven’t scabbed over, droplets of blood beading like rubies on the smooth skin, unhurriedly succumbing to gravity and trickling down Taemin’s legs.

 

Jonghyun’s own legs give way and he finds himself on the floor, blinking dazedly as Taemin turns at the crashing sound and drops the milk carton.

 

The younger man follows his lover’s horrified stare, down to his thighs and God, his thighs are even worse. When Taemin looks up from the bloody mess, he meets Jonghyun’s eyes with huge maknae eyes, swimming with fear, guilt and something that looks a lot like anger.

 

“You weren’t supposed to know. None of you were.” Taemin mutters sharply under his breath, stepping delicately around the explosion of milk on the floor and crouching beside Jonghyun. “You’re all supposed to be sleeping, it’s Saturday morning and even you were fast asleep, I double-checked.” He helps Jonghyun to his feet, then quickly retreats to the other side of the milk lake.

 

“Are you-I mean, how long have you…?”

 

“It’s not what it looks like.” Taemin’s expression is one of distrust, of partially hidden fear and Jonghyun’s heart aches. “I don’t use…it’s just. Nails, you know, they can do more damage than you’d think.” Both of them look at where Taemin’s long, neatly kept nails are biting half-moons into his palm. “It’s not as bad as it seems,” he adds, “I just, uh. I didn’t wash the stuff away yet because it’s kind of…nice. I mean, I just like seeing it-“

 

“Stuff? Seriously Tae? You mean blood, right? You mean you haven’t wiped away all the fucking _blood_ yet, oh my god,” Jonghyun leans against the doorframe and presses the heels of his hands into his forehead, “How could you do this to yourself?”

 

Taemin’s somewhat affronted and a lot angry. “I told you it’s not that bad. You’re talking like it’s the end of the world or like I’m…cutting or something. It’s not! It’s not that bad, I’m not that bad, it’s just sometimes. The stress, you know?”

 

Jonghyun’s face twists. Yes, he knows.

 

“And when my legs don’t move like I want them too. Arms are easier, don’t you think? It’s always the leggy moves that leave me a step behind.”

 

“Taemin, you’re never a step behind and even if you were, it wouldn’t matter, we wouldn’t care-“

 

“My skin just tingles, you know? It’s like, my skin is making me feel claustrophobic and when I scrape it open just a bit then I can let it all go. Let the blood and stress and fear and disappointment all flood down the drain.”

 

“The shower?” Jonghyun demands. What else has their bathroom been witness to?

 

“Thoughts come so much easier in the shower. Usually they’re good ones, but occasionally. Well.” Taemin gestures at his legs so blasé, so casually, that Jonghyun feels disorientated. A bit nauseous. “This week hasn’t been relaxing, let’s just say that; I can’t help but think that I need to help more, you know? Like, I know Key takes on more for me because he wants to look after me, sees me as his baby and it’s lovely, I really do love it but not if it means he ends up throwing up in the bathroom at fuck o’clock in the morning.”

 

Jonghyun is so glad he never mentioned Minho’s little…episode, a couple of mornings ago. He hates to even imagine how red Taemin’s legs would be now; if he had known his fellow maknae fails at coping sometimes too.

 

Taemin screws his features up, pressing back against kitchen cabinets as if he wants to sink into them. “I’m sorry, ok? Please stop looking at me like that. You…you’re having troubles too, you’re struggling with that god-awful insomnia, and I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want to worry you, I don’t want to be burdensome and selfish and make you worse. You were happy when you woke up, I’m guessing, ‘cause it’s late and you slept.

 

“Jinki said you’d sleep well. Jinki kissed me goodnight, you know, and he told me “Taeminnie, I’m so glad I can count on you to help me get everyone through this” and I want him to keep counting on me.” They’ve always been close, closer like Key and Minho are closer, or Key and Jonghyun; sneaking off to each other’s rooms and lingering behind on the sofa after everyone else has called their ‘love-you’s and headed off to bed.

 

Taemin looks desperate and Jonghyun hurts with how much he understands. Taemin continues, “I don’t want him to bottle it all up, bear everything himself, just because I get sort of anxious sometimes and maybe scratch my legs.” Jonghyun wants to say there’s nothing ‘maybe’ about the drying blood on his kneecaps, but doesn’t speak. “He thinks ‘cause he’s the leader he needs to try harder, or some shit like that. God, Jonghyun, it’s…I didn’t want anyone of you to find out but. Please, Jjong, please don’t tell Jinki.”

 

It all feels too familiar. Jonghyun swallows.

 

Instead of replying, he just says, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Taemin deflates at that, clutching at the counter to prevent his legs from giving out underneath him.

 

Jonghyun skirts the milk pool and ruffles Taemin’s hair as he passes him to get to the medical cabinet. He goes on his tiptoes to reach the anti-septic wipes, making a grunt of frustration when he still can’t reach. It draws a slightly unwilling chuckle from Taemin, as he presses his front to Jonghyun’s back and reaches over the shorter man to grab the packet, so Jonghyun thinks his height might have some (very few, but some) uses.

 

“Looking for this?” Taemin smirks. It’s weak but it’s something.

 

“Fuck you.” Jonghyun nudges his elbow into Taemin’s side. “Go jump up on the table for me sweetheart.”

 

Blushing - Taemin always blushes such a beautiful shade of pink at Jonghyun’s endearments - the maknae hops his bottom up onto the kitchen table, hissing slightly when the backs of his thighs come into contact with the tabletop.

 

“What are we going to do today?” Jonghyun asks as he pulls out a chair and sits down on it then wraps a gentle hand around Taemin’s ankle and carefully starts dabbing away the blood.

 

Taemin winces, “We could watch movies?”

 

“We could watch that scary new one.”

 

Taemin cackles, before the sound is cut off by a whimper. Jonghyun apologises softly and Taemin takes a deep breath before commenting, tone light, “Jinki-hyung will get piss-scared and pretend he’s not.”

 

“We’ll have a good excuse to cuddle him.” Jonghyun points out.

 

“And Key’s been nagging us to watch it since it arrived in his amazon order last weekend.”

 

“You know,” Jonghyun pats Taemin’s right knee and moves onto his left calf, “I don’t understand Bummie and his relationship with scary movies. He says he loves watching them but he’s always the one screaming the loudest.”

 

“I overheard him telling Minho he just pretends in order to ‘set the mood’.” Taemin rolls his eyes and they both laugh at the absurdity of that. Screaming as you jump at the sudden movements on screen is hardly something you can control.

 

“Did Minho believe him?”

 

“Hyung, Minho sleeps through every single movie we watch, I don’t think he gives a shit either way. If anything he’s just annoyed that Key’s screams always wake him up.”

 

Taemin is, thankfully, correct in saying it looks worse than it actually is. By the time Jonghyun has wiped away the blood and dabbed gently at the raised red lines, Taemin’s thighs don’t look so shredded. He catches Taemin looking at them almost wistfully and quickly asks, “We could nip out to the food store and grab some snacks if you’d like?”

 

Taemin nods like an excited five-year-old and Jonghyun kisses his left thigh in a place where there are no scratches.

 

“Hey baby, will you lie on your front please?” Taemin does so with a quiet sigh of defeat, but otherwise no contest and Jonghyun jumps up on the table and kneels beside him. He sets to work on the backs of the maknae’s thighs, swallowing hard at the brown-red, dried blood.

 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he says. It slips out. He hadn’t meant to say it out-loud, for fear of somehow triggering the younger man or ruining the sort of calm they have settled into.

 

Taemin’s body tenses beneath his hands, then all the muscles release and he lets out a quiet hum into his arms where they’re folded on the table. Jonghyun takes this as permission and as he scrubs at tanned skin with the antiseptic, he states, “I love you. You’re beautiful. I love how muscular your thighs are. I want to kiss every single scratch. I want to kiss every part of you, full stop. Especially your pouty lips. Have I mentioned how much I love those? A lot, if you were in any doubt…”

 

When he’s done, he kisses up the ridge of Taemin’s spine through the thin white pyjama shirt he’s wearing, then rolls Taemin onto his back to kiss Taemin’s lips. Taemin’s hands come up to dance up and down Jonghyun’s legs, Jonghyun’s arms, but the emotional turmoil has taken more out of Jonghyun than he likes to admit. Taemin can tell though, from the way Jonghyun slumps over him more than gracefully curves, so they pull apart quickly. They stumble to Taemin’s room, not wanting to disturb the others, and chose clothes for each other then quietly brush their teeth and write a note to the rest so they won’t worry.

 

Just before they leave the house, before they step out of the door where they need to hide their identities behind facemasks and jacket hoods just to buy crappy food from the shop down the street, and need to hide their relationship constantly, Taemin tugs Jonghyun around and kisses him hard.

 

“I’m sorry. I mean, thanks and. I really am sorry, you know that, right? I don’t want you to worry-“

 

Jonghyun rolls his eyes, smile soft and oozing fond. “Shut up and kiss me,” he mutters. Taemin complies.

 

“I love you,” Taemin whispers against his lips.

 

“Love you too, Tae.”

 

When they come offstage, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, Key and Taemin don’t drop the fan service act and move apart as expected. Instead Key tickles his fingers across Taemin’s shoulders, down his arm, then threads their fingers together. He squeezes firmly and Taemin smiles, both of them caught up in each other and unaware of the raised eyebrows.

 

The coffee machine has spewed out Taemin’s cappuccino and he’s just stirring in sugar and cinnamon powder when Jinki comes up and puts his mug beneath the machine. Subconsciously, the elder man presses close, chest flush to Taemin’s back, and wraps his arms around Taemin’s thin waist. Taemin likes it when he does that. He leans back against his leader’s steady warmth, resting his head on Jinki’s shoulder until Jinki’s coffee is done. Then they stand side-by-side, nudging hips as Jinki dumps sugar into his black coffee, before returning to their dressing room, not paying any attention to the curious gazes they receive for their intimacy.

 

After their second appearance onstage, Minho gives Taemin a piggyback all the way to the bathroom, then on to the snack table. He rests his chin on Taemin’s hair and makes Taemin shuffle with him to fulfil his eating whims. Minho laughs when the younger grumbles about being used as a headrest and drapes his arms around Taemin’s neck, nuzzling his nose into Taemin’s nape and breathing in the familiar smell; the scent of lavender and tea-tree from the shampoo Taemin steals from Key.

 

Taemin catches Jonghyun at one point, tugging him aside into an empty changing room. Jonghyun’s exhausted by now, despite his reasonably good sleep last night. One comparatively good night doesn’t magically restore close to three weeks worth of sleeplessness. He stumbles as Taemin drags him by his arm.

 

“You told them, didn’t you?”

 

“I did.” Jonghyun is devastated by the betrayal that flashes through Taemin’s eyes, swiftly followed by melancholic acceptance. God, all these emotions are draining Jonghyun’s energy faster than an upside-down bucket spills water. He scrambles to compose himself, to explain. “I couldn’t. I’m sorry baby, I couldn’t keep that to myself.” Taemin nods reluctantly and Jonghyun draws him into a hug. Taemin hunches to slot beneath Jonghyun’s chin. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t tell Jinki.”

 

Taemin starts, looking up so fast he almost smashes his head into Jonghyun’s chin. Jonghyun jerks away a second late, reactions delayed by his tiredness. “Wait, what? You didn’t?”

 

“No, I,” Jonghyun swallows. He feels guilty about that, guilty that they all know except for the one whom probably needs to know the most, but the unadulterated relief and gratefulness painted across Taemin’s face makes him feel slightly better. “I thought you had a point. About him taking it to heart and ending up hurting himself. Of course all of us are taking this to heart Taemin, of course we are. Just…not like he would.”

 

“Thank you so much,” Taemin breathes, pressing forward to fervently kiss Jonghyun’s cheeks and nose and forehead. Jonghyun blushes under the affection, sagging slightly into Taemin’s supportive hands. His back hurts. His back has been hurting for three weeks now. Fucking insomnia.

 

Taemin pauses then suddenly grins widely. “I could tell because everyone was being so overtly-affectionate, you know? But by everyone, I mean Jinki-hyung too and he didn’t even know.” Taemin looks so happy, so blissfully happy. “I guess I never appreciated the fact that Jinki acts that way to me all the time.”

 

“He really loves you.” Jonghyun murmurs, grinning, wearily, in automatic response to Taemin’s delight. “We all do. I guess we’re just not as open with it as Jinki is.”

 

Taemin laughs, “If you were, I don’t think our relationship would stay secret for very long!”

 

Blinking the tiredness away, Jonghyun smiles wryly, “Yeah, probably a good thing then.” Still chuckling, they leave the room, only to be immediately caught by their manager, and ordered them unceremoniously back to the dressing room. The others are waiting for them, all looking confused. Jonghyun has a headache. His head has been hurting for three weeks now. Insomnia.

 

Their manager locks the door and whirls to them, expression anxious and wretched but, overwhelmingly, furious.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” They all recoil, Jonghyun a second late again. “Do you know how many people have come up to me and ‘subtly inquired as to the nature of your relationships’? Do you, goddamnit?

 

“I’ve been lying through my teeth for you, but it’s no wonder I keep getting disbelieving looks in return for my efforts when you’re all hanging off each other. What is this, a competition to see who can flirt with Taemin in the most conspicuous way possible?” They wince at that. Well, Key and Jonghyun and Minho wince, glancing worriedly at Taemin. The maknae is completely frozen, eyes fixed on the floor.

 

“Do you know how much you’re risking for this? How much I’m risking just allowing you to do this? Sometimes I really don’t think you do, because if you did, perhaps you’d use your fucking brains and work out it’s not the time nor the place.” He moves his glare to focus on Jonghyun now, eyes piercingly harsh, and body language all barely-suppressed aggression. Jonghyun shrinks back, feeling his headache worsen, tightening its grip around his temples.

 

“After all your hard work, I can’t believe you’re being so idiotic as to risk everything. Is this insane polygamous shit _really_ worth it? I’ve _tried_ to be understanding, tried to help but there’s a fucking limit.” He’s hissing loudly, not shouting for fear of eavesdropping, and each sentence spat in their faces twists a knife deeper into Jonghyun’s gut. It’s one thing to question these things in your head, but another entirely to have somebody in a senior position of management irately voice those fears aloud.

 

Jonghyun starts crying.

 

One second he’s much the same as his band mates, just sitting there, pinching the back of one hand to stop himself from lashing out physically or verbally. The next moment, he sucks in a huge breath, chokes on the air, and lets out a sob.

 

Their manager stutters in his admonishment. “Jonghyun-ssi?”

 

Jonghyun can’t reply, suddenly crying so hard he can hardly see, can hardly breathe. Beside him on the sofa, his band mates recoil in shock. He cries harder.

 

“Sorry, I’m just really tired and you were yelling and I just. I’m sorry, sorry, just ignore me. Fuck, this is embarrassing.” Jinki is the first to recover, tucking Jonghyun into his side and giving the manager a look of equal-parts anger and apology over the younger man’s head.

 

“Please don’t cry Jjong,” begs Key, sliding from the sofa to crouch on the floor at Jonghyun’s feet, rubbing Jonghyun’s legs in an attempt to comfort him. He has his back to their manager, blatantly ignoring him. “Come on, darling, don’t do this. We can get you home in an hour and then you can sleep, ok?”

 

“An hour?” Jonghyun chokes out hysterically, “But I want to sleep now.”

 

Key’s face crumples in sympathy. “We can’t leave yet darling.”

 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault. If you guys weren’t trying to comfort me or whatever-“

 

“Taemin, please don’t say that,” pleads Minho, feeling sick at the way Jonghyun is crying and horrified at the way Taemin has curled in on himself, eyes squeezed shut in self-blame. On Taemin’s other side, still holding Jonghyun, Jinki looks confused.

 

Their manager throws up his hands in defeat.

 

“I won’t press the issue further tonight,” he says, all of them quieting to hear his verdict, “But you sure as hell can expect emails in your inboxes, emails detailing exactly what you should and should not be doing in public. You’d better learn the contents off by heart.” Jonghyun sobs particularly loudly and Jinki squeezes him closer. Their manager hunches a little and his eyes soften. “I don’t want a repeat of this. I hate yelling at you, I really do, but this is my job and your dream and I don’t want to see you throw it away in a single night of carelessness.”

 

He sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face as they look on expectantly, understandingly. “Look, I’ll wrangle some stuff, talk to some people and we’ll leave early. Just wipe your make-up off, gather your shit together and somebody please make Jonghyun stop crying? Minho, call the car. When I see you again on Wednesday you’d better act…better.” He nods at them, then leaves the room with a hesitant but resolved stride.

 

When he wakes, Jonghyun feels completely rested. Which makes him panic because he's sure they have a schedule to get to early in the morning. Jinki had been stressing about it because the show they're scheduled for is infamous for springing unusual and often personal questions. He flails as he slaps around the bed searching for his phone, presses the main button and relaxes. Phew. Only 3am.

 

"Wait what?" he hisses into the darkness. How had he failed to notice that the room is still dark, the sky in the gap between the curtains still star-speckled black?

 

Furthermore, how does he feel so well rested? For the first time in ages. Last time he felt this energetic was the day they'd watched Howl's Moving Castle and Taemin and Key had almost got recognised when they snuck out to get ice-cream.

 

Jonghyun stretches deliciously, revelling in the strength of his muscles and the loud crack of his bones. It's early as fuck but he's not tempted to go back to sleep. He wants to enjoy his wakefulness while it lasts. He's in Taemin's bed, and the maknae twitches at the sound of Jonghyun rustling the sheets, then rolls over and snuffles into the pillow. Jonghyun grins and ruffles Taemin's hair gently, then carefully climbs over him and saunters to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.

 

Jonghyun's bare feet stick slightly to the wooden floorboards as he makes his way to the living room after changing into work out kit, socks and trainers in hand, determined to work out whilst he actually feels strong enough. Then he can drop by the studios - it'll be open by 5, because Super Junior are recording their new album and have been up at ungodly hours for the last month doing the vocals - and he's sure they'll be able to spare him a private studio and he'll be able to finally finish those last adlibs. Then he can go eat breakfast somewhere, then he can go shopping and buy Key those shorts he's been pining after for the last week, then he can come back and get ready for that radio show, then he can-

 

"Jinki-hyung? Why are you awake?"

 

Jinki's on the floor of the living room. All the furniture has been moved aside and he's on his hands and knees, cloth in hand and bucket of water beside him. Against the wall is propped the mop and the broom, and along the skirting board various detergents and bleaches are aligned in neat rows.

 

"Oh. Jjong. You're up early." Jonghyun raises an eyebrow. "This? Oh, it's just that. It's just that. You're up early, it's very early, the sun isn't even up yet but you're up."

 

"Jinki?"

 

"Yes? Sorry. Sorry sorry, the words need to come out in the right order, you see. The right words at the right time. It's all very precise. It's just that the floor was. Is. The floor is dirty."

 

"The cleaners can do that, hyung. Come on, don't do this now," says Jonghyun softly, soothingly, as if speaking to a spooked animal. He comes forward and crouches to offer Jinki a hand but Jinki pushes him away suddenly, sending him sprawling.

 

"No!" he yells, then freezes and his eyes go wide as saucers. "Sorry, I didn't mean to push but you can't stand here. Not here. I'm cleaning."

 

"It's okay hyung, I'm not hurt. It's okay. Do you have to do this?"

 

"I just. Yes. It's necessary. Obligatory, mandatory, pass me the bleach will you?"

 

"Couldn't you do this later?"

 

"Jonghyun please are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

 

"An attack...what?" Jonghyun blinks, taking in the way Jinki's chest is heaving and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead. "Hyung you're working yourself up, could you take a deep breath for me?"

 

Jinki obeys but the oxygen only seems to add to the steely determination in his eyes.

 

"Jonghyun. You don't understand. I know it's stupid," he jerks forward to carefully run a finger along the edge of the television, "But I can't stop myself, so could we please just leave it at that? You're making me sweat. I hate that. I really, really hate that. Really. I need a shower. I need. But first you need to pass me the bleach." He returns to scrubbing the floor, now reaching out in large, even circles.

 

Jonghyun steps back and takes a deep breath of his own. Panic radiates from Jinki, stretching out tendrils to engulf the entire room, from Jonghyun to the wilting flower on the windowsill. "Ok.” Jonghyun breathes again. Calm. He’s fine. “Which one?" There are, as far as Jonghyun can see, five available options.

 

Jinki lets out a choked sort of snort and snaps, "The yellow one."

 

It isn't until Jonghyun gives said bleach bottle to the leader that he realises the state of Jinki's hands.

 

"Hyung!" he gasps, grabbing Jinki's hands firmly but gently. The palms are rubbed raw red, his nails are cracked and splintered, his knuckles are blistering open into bloody sores. "Jinki, what the hell?"

 

"Jonghyun stop holding my hand. I love you too, but there's this square over by the leg of the sofa that is calling me. To clean it. With the cloth you're sitting on." He looks at Jonghyun expectantly, unheeding of the horror on Jonghyun's face. As if in a daze, Jonghyun lets Jinki's hand drop, not even hearing the muttered thank you he gets in return. When Jinki stands and goes to the sofa, Jonghyun sees grazes on his knees.

 

"Jinki how long have you been up? When did you start doing this?"

 

Jinki doesn't reply, just keeps scrubbing away at some non-existent mark on the floor.

 

"Love, please don't ignore me." Jinki's head shoots up to meet Jonghyun's gaze.

 

"Sorry, I just didn't hear you. Must've zoned out. Zoned. Funny word. Anyway, you were saying?" Jinki keeps looking at Jonghyun but his hands are still wiping the cloth around the sofa.

 

"When did you start doing this?"

 

"Since I was eleven." Jonghyun winces. "Oh, but if you mean right now, I think I started at twelve thirty?"

 

"You...haven't slept at all?"

 

"Nope," says Jinki, popping the "p". It's adorable in most contexts. Not this one. Jonghyun never knew having insomnia would lead him to uncovering all these things he never wished to, about Key and Minho and Taemin and Jinki. Though he's glad he has.

 

"Let me help you?" he asks. Finding out at least means he can help. Jinki tilts his head and considers him.

 

"Will you scrub hard?"

 

"Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die." Jinki giggles and rolls his eyes simultaneously.

 

"Come on then, you dork. Use the mop. There's the bucket of water over there, could you mop the kitchen floor? I'll come in just a second and do the work-surfaces."

 

Jonghyun chucks his trainers on the rack and frowns slightly when Jinki scrambles over to arrange all the random pairs of shoes into pairs and straight lines. Then Jonghyun picks up the mop and goes into the kitchen, but not before inquiring, "Hey, love? Want to come shopping with me after this? We can get Key those new shorts he wanted. Or we could nip to the studio?"

 

"The store will." Jinki pouts, eyes scrunching sadly. "The store will be too messy and I'll want to sort everything out but I could do the studio?" His voice rises hopefully at the end and Jonghyun can't help but smile (it's kind of sad but extra fond).

 

"Sounds like a plan."

 

The radio show goes terribly, as expected. Afterwards, Jonghyun drags them all out for lunch, tells them to get whatever they want and pays for everything. Minho nearly eats all the money out of his wallet and Key jokes that Jonghyun should have known that was bound to happen.

 

Jonghyun plays along, but he’s just glad none of them seem too down or stressed out about it. Jinki isn’t talking to him, but Jonghyun just leaves him be, knows he just needs a bit of space, no doubt embarrassed and slightly ashamed by the whole affair that morning.

 

Then Jonghyun and Taemin sneak out to buy Key the shorts he wants and the delight on his face when they give them to him is worth all the grumbling of their bodyguards at the trouble. Minho challenges Taemin to Mario Kart and they all eventually get roped in, until Jonghyun is wrestling the remote away from Key and Taemin is giggling at the way Jinki steers with his whole body and Minho is going mad from all the distractions but still manages to win every single time.

 

Jonghyun and Jinki volunteer to buy sushi and cover themselves up before going out. When they come back, successfully avoiding the fans despite Jinki bringing attention to himself multiple times by tripping on air, it’s to find the house overflowing with the delicious smell of chocolate-chip cookies. Key’s slapping Taemin’s wrists every time he tries to steal one of the still-warm-and-gooey cookies from the cooling rack and Minho is cheering Taemin on from the other side of the room whilst he’s wolfing down the cookie he already pinched.

 

Jonghyun lectures them about the fusion of Western and Eastern cultures demonstrated by the sushi and cookie combination, until Jinki shoves a spoonful of wasabi down his throat. Key has to run and get him water whilst he takes off his shirt and staggers to stand beneath the air-con coughing and cursing. Minho wolf-whistles and Jonghyun flips him the bird.

 

Overall, Key declares the meal a success. Jonghyun grumbles until Taemin kisses him, then laughs with everyone else as Taemin gags at the lingering wasabi paste in Jonghyun’s mouth.

 

Then comes the inevitable crash.

 

They’re all curling up on the sofa and Jonghyun hops up to put on this American political drama from the 90s that they all adore. He leans over to put the CD into the disc player and suddenly the blood rushes to his head and his vision is splattered with black spots. When he stumbles upright, the lights blur into spinning stars and all he can think is ‘don’t fall on the television’.

 

“Shh darling, it’s ok, we’ve got you,” Key shushes soothingly. Jonghyun can feel their hands supporting him and relaxes into their arms.

 

“Let’s get him to bed.”

 

“Bathroom first then.”

 

Key brushes his teeth and Jonghyun would be embarrassed, but he’s focusing more on not fainting. If his ears would stop ringing he’d be able to hear Key mumbling sweet nothings, trying help calm him. Jinki and Taemin manoeuvre him into his room, forgetting that he can’t sleep alone. They heave him onto the bed and Jinki sweeps his fringe back to kiss his forehead and Taemin moves around the room lighting Jonghyun’s scented candles. The sweet scents of vanilla and lemon and sea breeze all mingling.

 

Key tuts when he comes in, blowing out all but the vanilla one, knowing from personal experience how stifling it is to sleep with scented candles lit, but too fond of the vanilla candle to blow it out. Jonghyun chuckles weakly and Key winks at him. He too kisses Jonghyun’s forehead. When he pulls back, Jonghyun blinks wearily, trying to focus on Key’s face. All he gets is a glimpse of fretful eyes before Minho’s there, tucking him in and pressing his lips softly to Jonghyun’s cheek.

 

“Sleep well, Jjongie.” His voice is low and Jonghyun wants to wrap himself up in it but then he’s alone, room black except for the gold flickering of the single candle. He watches the flame and each dancing curl of the fire trembles through him.

 

Desperately, he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut. He rolls over and buries his face into the pillow. His sheets don’t smell like him anymore; don’t smell like anything, not even washing powder. Washing powder would at least remind him of Jinki.

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, with defeat washing over him, Jonghyun opens his eyes. Fixes them on the blank wall. Deep breathing.

 

His bones are empty, save for the cold itch of desolation, marrow of desperation. He can’t scratch it, no matter how many miles he runs, nor how many times he tries to burn it out. His bones remain knit only by a shaking, feeble hope. And there is a black hole in his stomach, which threatens to suck his cells dry of it.

 

Shaking arms around his torso, keeping it from falling apart and stopping his insides from drifting away at a soft word; until he can’t hold on anymore and a deep weariness drains his veins. Loose limbed on the floor, restlessness overcome by a fatigue that eats into his flesh and buries itself where he can’t dig it out; not that he cares to, dares to, anyway. As his hope flees, and tiredness besieges his body, his head is free to break how it wants…

 

His mind’s primary desire is to curl up and stop, just stop, quickly, not this endless torment of dysphoria, death as slow yet inevitable as a desert of black sand with the sun cold and beating down unrelentingly, water invisible, or maybe never existing in the first place.

 

Thoughts are blades that cut without contact, slice though his brain with a disconcerting preciseness that sends shivers down his spine. They strike like lightening at noon on a pretty day: the entropy of civilisation, with his repulsion at the world around him plummeting to the depths of those empty bones. Disillusionment had occurred so quickly that he can still pretend, sometimes, that it hadn’t happened; but when the sky is dragged through ink into black-velveteen, star-speckled darkness, he knows the truth,

 

And he lies there, wallowing in the pits of despair, needing nothing more than to escape the terrible world around him, listening to the sound of falling tears and chinking coins and mocking laughter and jeering cat-calls, a cacophony which echoes through bones as empty as the brain of a politician, but with a little more conscience.

 

Sometime later, he falls asleep. He doesn’t want to ever wake up.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

“Can I at least give you a hug?” Taemin murmurs timidly. Jonghyun finally looks at him and his heart aches at the worry and dejection swimming in the maknae’s eyes. He reaches out and snags his fingers in Taemin’s jacket, reeling him in closer. Jonghyun lifts his head from where it was resting on the kitchen table, trying to ignore the way even that tiny amount of movement makes his skull pound, and kisses Taemin’s pouting lips.

 

“’M sorry baby,” says Jonghyun, slumping down and resting his head against Taemin’s chest, “I don’t mean to…I don’t want to be like this.”

 

“Why can’t you just get better?” Jonghyun sighs, the headache crushing his brain creeping around to beat the brain beneath his temples.

 

“I don’t know, Taemin.”

 

“Are those pills not working?” Jonghyun hums “no” and wraps his arms around Taemin’s narrow waist. He wants to hold on but his bones feel heavy so he just loops them over Taemin’s hips and hopes they stay there. Taemin’s deft fingers drift along Jonghyun’s arms to massage the elder’s shoulders.

 

“Jinki?” says Jonghyun.

 

“He’s a good teacher.” Taemin replies with a smile in his voice. Jonghyun doesn’t know how any of them understand him, but he’s glad they can figure out what he’s trying to say with only a few syllables, because speaking is such an effort. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”

 

Jonghyun wants to say how his stomach feels empty and shrunken but at the same time he has absolutely no appetite. But that’s a long sentence, so he just shakes his head and uses the movement to bury his face closer, into Taemin’s tummy, breathing in the smell of their washing powder and Chance Eau Tendre. Taemin had fallen in love with this particular Chanel perfume for women and Jonghyun can remember when Taemin once snuck away from their bodyguards to buy five bottles duty free in the airport; it’s all floral-fruity and fresh and soft and Jonghyun sort of loves it too.

 

“Jjong, maybe we could go to the gym later, before dinner? Work up an appetite and tire you out, hopefully help you sleep?” Taemin moves his hand from Jonghyun’s shoulders to thread through his hair. It’s been at least a week since his hyung bothered to style it and for some reason the lifeless blonde mess makes Taemin feel a little lifeless too.

“Hyung, at least nod,” he demands, with a hint of annoyance, because he knows Jonghyun is dead on his feet but he can’t really expect Taemin to read his mind, can he?

 

Just as he opens his mouth to complain again, Jonghyun snores. The sound is muffled in Taemin’s abdomen but the maknae hears it anyways, hand immediately freezing in Jonghyun’s hair and body tensing in surprise. The movement of muscle beneath his cheek and the lack of fingers gently pulling at the knots in his hair almost wake Jonghyun up. Quickly, Taemin resumes stroking the blonde frizz, then calls, “Minho? Minho hyung?” as loudly as he dares.

 

He’s lucky it’s Minho because 1) Minho has good hearing, unlike the rest of them who blast loud music through their headphones all the time, 2) Minho is quiet and doesn’t burst into the kitchen, as Key would’ve done, and 3) Minho actually has the strength to carry Jonghyun. Taemin tries to help him but ends up just getting in the way.

 

“Just open the doors for me,” says Minho, bending his knees next to where Jonghyun has been carefully hauled upright and is leant into Taemin’s side, to scoop the short man up into a princess hold. Taemin stifles his giggles and Minho fails to glare him into quietness, until they’re both giggling softly. At one point, Jonghyun snores extra loudly and they both choke on louder peels of laughter. Taemin uses his butt to sit on the door handles and push them open so he doesn’t have to look away from the glorious sight.

 

Minho places Jonghyun on Key’s bed, where he’s taken to sleeping because apparently his brain just no longer associates his own bed with sleep, and Jonghyun rolls over and plants his face on Key’s pillow, snoring into it.

 

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Minho admits. “The princess hold thing,” he clarifies.

 

Taemin just shakes his head. “Of course you did hyung.”

 

Jonghyun doesn’t know how it happens. He doesn’t think Jinki knows either, even though he’s the one to blame. Or thank. Everything’s sort of fucked up and he has no idea how to act around the elder now.

 

He’s pretty sure it wasn’t planned, or even if Jinki had _considered_ it, the leader hadn’t actually decided to carry it through. Nonetheless, it had happened.

 

Jonghyun closes his eyes and remembers the scene.

 

It is late at night and Taemin has been hypnotised by the television again. Jonghyun and Jinki are trying increasingly crazy antics to try and get the maknae’s attention.

 

Everything comes to a grand conclusion with Jonghyun balancing on Jinki legs, both of them clutching onto one another whilst holding their free arm out to the side doing jazz hands. Minho walks in at that exact moment and bursts out laughing, the sound finally snapping Taemin’s attention. The two eldest members of the band collapse with the force of their laughter at the horrified look on Taemin’s face.

 

Minho apparently takes the way Jinki and Jonghyun end up sprawled over one another as an invitation to a group cuddle and flings himself down with great gusto. Taemin lets out a yell of indignation, wriggling in to join the fray, his shout reeling Key in.

 

Key has just gotten out of the shower and they all pause when he appears in the doorway to the corridor, framed by black and everything else smooth skin. Key’s clad only in the pyjama bottoms of-

 

“Are they mine?” Minho screeches. “My fluffy puppy print pyjamas?!”

 

Key shrugs and the movement makes rivulets of water slide down his bare chest. Taemin’s face goes completely red. He squawks in distress when Key smirks straight at him, slinking forward to slot himself between Taemin’s legs, the other three all reaching out their hands to touch Key’s beautiful skin. Just as Jinki is locking his mouth on Key’s shoulder, a flash of teeth declaring his intent and the shudder that shoots through Key’s body acting as supporting evidence, Jonghyun’s heart sputters.

 

Taemin, tearing his eyes away from Key’s face and biting his lower lip to stop himself from giggling giddily, must see something change in Jonghyun’s expression, because his forehead wrinkles and he tries to push Key aside to reach the elder. But Minho leans in, obscuring Taemin’s view of Jonghyun, and Taemin doesn’t push Minho away.

 

Lying, trapped, beneath their weight, Jonghyun feels like the air around him, like every burning hot touch, is denting his skin, digging in, pushing, crowding, close, close, too close, and the blood in his veins is pumping against his skin from inside, beating fast near the surface; he feels like his skin is too tight, stretched thin and about to break from the pressure pushing up and down on it, body throbbing with every beat of his heart, the thuds of contracting muscle pounding in his ears.

 

His skin itches and itches but somebody is holding one hand and the other is stuck under somebody’s back so he has no way to scratch the layer of claustrophobia off his body, can only drown in neurosis. Somebody is propping themselves up with a hand on his shoulder, shoving him into the floor. Another hand is gripping his thigh, yet another has ensnared his ankle like a shackle.

 

Then Jonghyun is writhing, thrashing out at them but too weak to even budge them, using what little breath he manages to suck in through the gaps in the cage around him to scream.

 

His vision narrows and the box shrinks smaller and smaller and he can hear Taemin crying as their hands try to pin him down. From underneath the harrowing shrieks - are they his? Yes, yes they are, who else would be screaming as brokenly, breathlessly as that? - a soft lilt of sweet nothings emerges, murmurs of calmness, steady breaths for him to follow, and he tries to follow, tries to untangle the crazy knot of babbles into actual words, but he can’t, he can’t-

 

Then there is been a mouth against his ear and the words, “If you want to be a good boy, you will stop this right now.” Jonghyun trembles, brain stuttering as the low pitch seeps through his tight skin and God, he wants to stop, he really does, but he can’t make himself stop, he really can’t, maybe he will shake himself into tiny shards. Then the voice again, like somebody is pouring love like warm water all over him, “Be a good boy. Now.”

 

He realises, as he sucks in a deep breath and settles, the oxygen releasing his muscles and soothing his skin, that _he_ doesn’t need to make himself stop. Somebody else can make him. Somebody like Jinki.

 

Opening his eyes, he blinks away tears and focuses on Jinki’s face, right next to his. Jinki looks back at him, fondness glowing in his small smile. He leans closer once more and Jonghyun breathes in deep in anticipation. “You did really well. I’m so proud of you. Such a good boy for me.” He pulls back and if Jonghyun hadn’t had tunnel vision, which had reduced his world to Jinki and Jinki only, he would’ve seen the curious, relieved looks the two were getting from the rest.

 

“I’m here for you, okay?” Jinki reminds him gently, releasing Jonghyun’s wrists from where he’d pinned them down to prevent him from lashing out. “We’re all here for you.” Mentioning others doesn’t break Jonghyun’s calm.

 

It does, however, make him aware of them again.

 

“T-Tae?” he asks, feels Taemin grip his hand tightly. “Sorry for making you cry.”

 

“Don’t apologise,” Taemin whispers, as if speaking too loudly will set Jonghyun off again.

 

“Do you think you could…sleep?” asks Key, and from the quietness of his tone Jonghyun knows he scared him. Shit.

 

Jonghyun starts to shake his head, but then Jinki leans in again and whispers, “I think I can help you sleep too,” so Jonghyun nods instead. Jinki assures them all that he’ll put Jonghyun to bed himself. Minho kisses Jonghyun’s sweaty hair then shepherds Key and Taemin onto the sofa.

 

After going to the bathroom, Jinki tucks Jonghyun into his own bed and then crouches beside it. Jonghyun watches him with wide, waiting eyes.

 

“Jjong? Did you…mind?” Jonghyun realises Jinki’s worried, scared of assuming Jonghyun is ok with it. For all the elder knows, Jonghyun might have quietened down out of pure, horrified, shock.

 

Jonghyun shakes his head so much it hurts. Jinki places a warm palm on his cheek and holds him still, thumb rubbing circles on Jonghyun’s cheekbone.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I really,” Jonghyun blushes slightly, “I really liked it. And I’m thankful too. I…I don’t want to think what would have happened otherwise. I wouldn’t have been able to calm myself down. So, thanks, for helping me.”

 

Jinki smiles, and it’s confident enough for Jonghyun to hang off his next words, “Don’t put all the honour on me. You were a very good boy.”

 

Jonghyun leans into Jinki’s hand. “Really? I feel like I’ve just been causing you all trouble for the last three months.”

 

Jinki hums. “Nope. Not trouble at all. We’re just a little worried about you, but we’re only worried ‘cause we love you so much. Don’t think you’re not good.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“Do you think…would it work if…could you…”

 

Jinki smiles fondly, pushes Jonghyun’s long fringe out of his eyes, where he’s hiding shyly behind it. Jonghyun can’t remember the last time he felt this shy. Not only that, but he used to feel ashamed of being shy, like it was some horrible emotion to be avoided if he didn’t want to seem weak. Only, lying in bed with Jinki moving to sit up on the mattress beside him, Jinki’s hand running through his hair soothingly, Jonghyun doesn’t feel weak at all.

 

“I’ll just talk,” Jinki says. Jonghyun doesn’t want to push it, just snuggles against Jinki’s side, tucked under the elder’s wing, safe and - Lord be praised - sleepy.

 

Jinki lulls Jonghyun into a state of semi-consciousness with his soft, honey warm voice. He talks about nothing much, just how his day has been. Little stories about Key babying Taemin, or anecdotes about Minho and Taemin annoying Key together, or funny quotes from Minho and Key’s bickering battles.

 

Then he leans down and whispers, “Why don’t you be a good boy for us and sleep?”

 

He slips into sleep, but not before Jonghyun notes that he likes that Jinki used the pronoun ‘us’.

 

Jonghyun sits at the kitchen table beside Minho and automatically stretches a leg out to hook ankles with the taller man. It’s their thing. Jonghyun especially likes it because when they’re sitting down Minho doesn’t quite tower over him like he does when they’re standing. Minho grins at him and chuckles with that low voice of his when he pulls his plate away from Jonghyun’s questing fingers quick enough. Jonghyun huffs but it’s below his dignity to use puppy dog eyes. Minho gives him some after a moment anyway, as predicted.

 

“You really can’t say no, can you?” laughs Key, appearing from nowhere, as he has a wont to do.

 

“I can say no to you,” Minho sticks his tongue out but Key is expecting that and cruelly pinches the exposed tongue. Minho splutters, “Who even does that!” as Jonghyun offers Key a high five and the two laugh at the indignant expression on Minho’s face.

 

“Stop picking on Minho,” says Taemin, reaching over the table to steal some of Minho’s food and not bothering to stand back up, so he’s flopped over the tabletop, kicking his legs up and down,

 

“Like a baby!” Key exclaims, swooping around that side of the table to attack Taemin with tickles. Almost simultaneously Jonghyun grabs his right arm and Minho the left so Taemin can’t move, only shriek and wriggle around like a drowning fish. Key tickles like the devil and they’ve all been victim to his fiendish fingers at some point, and he knows Taemin’s screams will summon his personal guardian Jinki, so he attacks with all the more fervour.

 

The second Jinki walks in, Jonghyun and Minho jump away cackling and Taemin leaps off the table into Key’s arms, panting over the elder’s face, scowling furiously in response to the impish smirk on Key’s lips. He struggles to get away but Key’s arms are vices around him, keeping him there. Jinki makes a vague sound of confusion and Key pushes forward to kiss the angry puffs of air out of Taemin’s lungs.

 

Jonghyun pretends to gag, which makes Jinki giggle, albeit still with a hint of confusion. Minho might have a thing for Jinki’s giggling and shifts self-consciously at the sound of it until Jinki, who had been informed of Minho’s thing for his giggle by a Jonghyun always eager to embarrass his lovers, stumbles over and pulls Minho down by his ear to kiss him.

 

Jonghyun looks at Taemin, now seated firmly on the table, Key between his knees and snogging his face off, and at Minho bending down to lick into Jinki’s mouth. He whines loudly.

 

“Hello? Do I get any kisses?” Key flips him the bird without even glancing at him. “I hate you all,” Jonghyun sulks, “You guys suck.”

 

“Dick,” pipes up Taemin, looking up just long enough to make his favourite kind of joke - the immature sexual kind - before considering Key’s pouting face and shining red lips and returning to his previous occupation. Minho laughs, because for some reason he finds these stupid jokes hilarious, to Jonghyun’s continuing disappointment, until Jinki tugs his hair harder and he gives Jonghyun a somewhat apologetic smile before kissing Jinki again.

 

Jonghyun is so done. Sighing loudly he grabs Minho’s half-full plate and throws himself down on the couch in the living room. He’s eating happily, slightly dozy, when he starts to feel himself drifting. His vision blurs, until he can see double of everything, and looking down at his hand moving the fork piled with food makes his brain go fuzzy. Hand shaking, he puts the plate down and stumbles back into the kitchen.

 

They all look up from where they’re sitting around the kitchen table and the laughter swiftly slides from their faces at Jonghyun’s pale face and rapid blinking and breathing rates.

 

“Hyung, are you alright?”

 

“Two…Taemin, there are two of you.” Jonghyun sounds like he wants to be angry but isn’t bothered enough, doesn’t have enough energy to inject the anger into his voice.

 

“Hyung, let me help you sit down.” Minho is suddenly beside him and Jonghyun jerks his head up to look at the taller man’s face.

 

“You were over there?” Jonghyun says, pointing to Key, whose forehead is wrinkled with worry.

 

“Jinki, what do we do?” Key hisses urgently. Jinki’s been helping Jonghyun for the last week, since the panic attack, even though he’s told them all how he helped, what to do. Jonghyun had been terribly embarrassed but didn’t want to solely rely on Jinki. Firstly, he didn’t want to put that pressure on Jinki. Furthermore, he didn’t like keeping secrets within their group. Jinki ignores Key.

 

“Jjong?” he calls. Jonghyun twitches at the sound of his nickname, spinning around in a full circle before locking gazes with Jinki. Taemin looks like he wants to laugh but it’s also freaking him out so he just makes an amused sort of whimper. “Could you sleep if you got into bed now?” Jonghyun walks forward on an impulse and stops by the table, bring his hand up to fluidly tap his nails across it.

 

He watches his own hand in a slightly detached way as he replies, “I’m wide awake.” Key exchanges a disbelieving look with Taemin.

 

“Ok, go and change into your pyjamas then lie on the couch for a bit.” Jinki instructs, and at the firm tone of his voice, Jonghyun snaps to attention. 10 minutes later, Taemin sticks his head out of the kitchen to confirm Jonghyun’s position on the sofa.

 

He’s still there two hours later when they all file out of the kitchen and head off to bed, all except Minho, who stays in the kitchen doorway, leaning against it as he watches Jonghyun stare blankly into space, ignoring the television and occasionally frowning at a thought. Minho has no doubt that Jonghyun could stay like that for hours.

 

He thinks back on the conversation with Jinki, remembers Jinki’s explanation about how to act, how to read Jonghyun’s reactions. Minho takes a deep steadying breath, because he doesn’t like ordering his hyung about, especially when Jonghyun would usually cuss him out for even trying, but he doesn’t like even more seeing Jonghyun suffering.

 

“Jonghyun,” he calls firmly, when the rest of the members have mumbled goodnights and kissed Minho as they stumbled past, eyes half-shut already. Jinki kisses him twice for luck, and the encouragement and confidence in Jinki’s eyes relaxes the taller man. No longer on edge, he breathes deeply, letting himself fill every inch of his skin.

 

He calls Jonghyun again. Jonghyun’s gaze glides to him, “Come and warm your milk.” Jonghyun nods and obediently drags his feet into the kitchen, Minho moving aside to let him through. He oversees Jonghyun easily flicking the electric oven on, pouring milk into the saucepan, just the right amount. He stirs the milk with a wooden spoon and bounces up and down on his toes, completely on edge. Minho frowns.

 

“Turn the heat down and leave it awhile. Clean up.” Jonghyun obeys quietly, cleaning up the remnants of the dinner which they’d eaten after he’d interrupted them earlier. He hesitates when he’s done, then returns to his milk, dipping his pinkie in and withdrawing it sharply, taking the pan off the heat, switching the oven off then carefully pouring the hot milk into the mug Minho sets down for him. Jonghyun gives him a grateful look but he isn’t speaking right now.

 

“Come on,” Minho says and Jonghyun follows him into the living room, turning off the lights as they leave, “Do you want cuddles?” Jonghyun’s face crumples into guilt. “Look, I wouldn’t have offered if I minded.” He relaxes on the couch, making a little space for Jonghyun to curl up in, upright enough that he can still drink his milk without drowning himself. “Follow my breathing, okay?”

 

With every inhale and exhale, Jonghyun feels like Minho is breathing sleepiness into him. With every sip of warm milk, the liquid heating even the tips of his toes, Jonghyun hears sleep’s mellifluous lullaby gently enfold his mind.

 

He’s only vaguely aware of Minho taking the empty mug from his hands and setting it on the table quietly, then carefully pulling Jonghyun up from the sofa and tugging him to Minho’s room. The lights aren’t on, and Minho tells him to “just sink into the dark”, so he does. When Minho kisses his forehead and whispers goodnight, Jonghyun is just conscious enough to mumble “thank you” as a wave of gratefulness and the feeling of being loved sweeps through him, simmering soothingly in his veins.

 

He’s so thankful for all of them. Grateful that, somehow, he’s ended up with four beautiful men who love him just as much as he loves them. In his mind’s eye, he sees Taemin’s sunshine smile, the way he giggles after making inappropriate, stupid jokes. Sees the relaxation that seeps into Key’s body when Taemin lets him baby him or when he’s bickering with Jonghyun or Minho or when he’s nagging Jinki, completely at ease around them, trusting them to accept him, flaws and all. He remembers when it was Jinki instead of Minho, when Jinki’s steady warmth had grounded him, how it had felt when he’d been praised. How much he wants to be good for them, good to them, and how much they want him to be good to himself.

 

He sails off to sleep and, for once, the tides are with him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr : [If you need anything I'm here for you.](www.otshineon.tumblr.com)
> 
> Please comment or leave kudos I worked so hard on this and it would really make my day.
> 
> But please be sensitive if you do so because I took a lot of inspiration from my own experiences of insomnia and…the other things too… so this fic is very close to my heart. Thank you!


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